“Savannah’s coming tomorrow.”
“By herself?”
She looks down at her nails and shakes her head. “With Mary Nell.”
This is simultaneously exhilarating and disturbing. I look forward to seeing my granddaughter. But it will be difficult to look Savannah in the eye and treat her kindly, knowing that she intends to get rid of my only grandchild like a rolled up wad of week-old newspaper.
Morgan measures my frown. “I thought you would be more excited. Savannah’s softened. I don’t think she will criticize you like she has in the past.”
“It’s not that.” I stare at the picturesque setting sun. “It’s just that, well . . . ” I hold my peace, and gulp down half my beer.
“Are you still worked up about Mary Nell?”
I nod reluctantly, not wanting to resurrect old disagreements on such a fair evening.
“Raymond, please. You have to think about the good.”
“I know.” She’s probably right.
“The end justifies the means, and when the end is so amazing, the less than favorable means can be easily overlooked. If we obsess on the fact that our lovely bodies once belonged to clones derived from our perfected genome, then we wouldn’t relish our envied existence in these new lovely packages of flawless flesh.”
How can I argue with that?
“Indulge, my love.” She places a slow kiss on my cheek.
“You make it so easy.” I turn my head to kiss her lips. We take our time for a moment. “I don’t ever remember enjoying kissing like this.”
She smiles broadly and briefly kisses me again. The alcohol on her breath revives an unexpected memory of doing things in my previous life, things that presently repulse me for some reason. I pull away from Morgan, my cheeks tingling with self-reproach. Why do I feel so schizophrenic in my thoughts, being tossed back and forth between self-loathing and guilt on one hand, and extravagance and excess on the other? I fight the sting of shame by downing the rest of my beer and asking the bartender for a shot of whiskey. Perhaps therein lies the answer. One extreme is my attempt at quenching the other.
Morgan raises her eyebrows at my unexpected request for a shot of hard liquor. “In a hurry to end the evening?”
I look down at my shot glass and toss the liquid into my throat. “I wonder what Savannah’s going to decide?”
She stares at me for a second.
Appearing to respect Savannah’s choice, I hope Morgan will at least respect my desire for her, and not Morgan, to have that choice.
“As long as you respect her decision. Ray.” I nod, my eyes still fixed on that last sip of brown liquid at the bottom of my shot glass. “Don’t you dare guilt trip her.”
I gulp the last few drops, keeping my impulsive snippet rooted on the tip of my tongue.
We don’t discuss Savannah’s visit during the remainder of our date, and Morgan doesn’t begrudge me like I feared. My guilt dissipates as my inebriation grows.
Why adopt scruples that simply make me a hypocrite in my own eyes?
11
I DECIDE TO MEET SAVANNAH and Mary Nell on the beach instead of in my hospital room. As Savannah approaches, I have a long look at her. She looks as young and vibrant as ever, about as good as a woman in her mid-40s can look in an original body.
It’s the little three-year-old in her mother’s arms, wearing a pink tutu, that captures my attention. Brown hair, big eyes, slobbery smile. I hug Savannah, but immediately direct my attention to my granddaughter.
“Hello, Mary Nell. It’s me, Grandpa.”
With her hands clasped around her mother’s neck, she stares at me for a moment. She turns to her mother, as if to ask for permission.
“Do you want to give your Grandpa a hug?” Savannah smiles.
Mary Nell turns back to me, and then unexpectedly lurches toward me. I catch her in my arms. She’s so light and frail, but her grasp around my neck is one of the most delightful experiences of my life. My first grandchild. My posterity.
She pulls away for a moment and, with her eyes still fixed upon her mother, grins bashfully. “Hello Gwanpaw.”
I laugh so full and hard, I am oblivious to everything else in the world beside the small bundle of life I hold in my arms.
Then she presses her wet lips against my cheek, and embraces me again.
I wrap my arms tightly around her and whisper in her ear, “I love you.”
Savannah has tears in her eyes that she wipes with her beach towel. “She’s not normally that warm to strangers.”
“No, she’s not,” Morgan agrees.
“I don’t want to be a stranger anymore, Savannah. Not to you, not to Mary Nell. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.” My voice chokes with sadness and long-suppressed guilt from which I long to be free. Morgan sniffs and reaches for something in her beach bag, appearing displeased with my emotional expression.
“Better late than never,” Savannah mumbles. Her comment first provokes offense in me, but when I see her full smile, I realize that’s her way of accepting my apology.
We settle down in our beach chairs in the sand. Mary Nell and I play with brightly colored buckets and shovels, while Morgan and Savannah recline in the sun, deepening their tan.
I help Mary Nell build a castle out of wet sand, and then she playfully knocks it down. She giggles so hard I have to remind her to breathe.
I lay down in the sand, and Mary Nell tries to build a castle on top of me. I have to help her shake the wet sand out of the upside-down buckets, but finally we have a routine. Soon, her eyes are drooping. It is time for a nap. Morgan and Savannah are consumed in their talk about the latest anti-aging cream, their favorite spa therapy, and the most enticing romance novel. So I lay Mary Nell down on a towel and begin to caress her back. She is restless, fighting sleep, until I began to whistle a tune I remember from when I was a child. I don’t even remember the words, but it’s like magic. In less than a minute, Mary Nell falls sound asleep. I rest my hand on her back, in awe of the helplessness of this little Down Syndrome girl, rarely encountered in society today due to routine prenatal testing and ubiquitous abortions of genetically defective children. How can a person so genetically dysfunctional be so lovely? She is so frail and tender, but happiness personified.
“How did you come to know that tune, Dad?”
“You mean, what I’m whistling?”
Savannah nods.
I shrug. “Do you know it?”
“Your sister used to sing it to Mary Nell when she was a baby.”
“Tamara?”
“I spent a few months with her when I left home.”
Morgan scowls. “Really? Tamara?”
Savannah nods.
“Did my sister impact you at all with her, uh, with her views? Her faith?”
Morgan clenches her teeth.
Savannah sighs and shakes her head side to side. “No. This life has too much to offer to live so fully for the next. Tamara’s the real deal though, that’s for sure. And she sure loved Mary Nell.”
Savannah begins to sing the song I hummed, her eyes fixed on her slumbering child.
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong.
They are weak but—
“Never heard it,” Morgan interrupts sharply. “Let’s go for a walk.” She stands and motions down the beach. “Just you and me, Savannah. I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”
I know the topic Morgan longs to broach, and it is my turn to scowl. “Can’t you talk about it here?”
Morgan ignores me and takes several steps away without looking back.
“What’s the matter, Dad? Are you worried about caring for li’l Mary Nell for a few minutes?”
“No, not at all.”
“I trust you’ll take good care of her.” Savannah follows Morgan. Over her shoulder, she instructs me, “Just give her some food and loving if she wakes up.”
“
Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”
They are gone for about an hour. Conspiring to rip my heart out, I’m sure. I spend most of that time just caressing Mary Nell’s back. How could they turn their backs on this little girl? Yes, she’s defective. Yes, her potential is limited. Yes, she’ll probably be dependent on others to care for her for the rest of her life. But she’s my granddaughter, and she’s as full of love as anyone could ever be.
Mary Nell wakes up the moment they return.
“Momma!” She hobbles toward Savannah and throws herself into her arms. Savannah keeps her at arms’ length, as if she is repelling her. My heart drops and my limbs feel weighted down with grief. It appears that Morgan has persuaded Savannah, who has already begun to detach from her daughter. Pitying my granddaughter, I pull her tiny body into my arms and she tries to pull away from me. She wants her mother.
I glance at Morgan, who winks at me. “I told you all would be well. Mary Nell will be normal, and have a normal, blessed life.”
Savannah removes her sunglasses to clean them with her towel. “Yes, Mary Nell will be well.”
Savannah’s eyes are bloodshot. Her decision clearly has not been easy, but that does not make it less cruel.
“She’s also going to accept her own new body, isn’t that right?” Morgan glances at Savannah with expectation.
Savannah sighs and nods.
“When she learned what disasters her genome held, it was an easy decision for her. Best for everyone.”
“Best for everyone.” Savannah puts her sunglasses back on and reapplies her tanning oil.
I want to scream, Is it best for Mary Nell?! Instead, I speak calmly. “Savannah, why did you reject the New Body science in the first place, back when we were breaking ground?”
“Why does it matter?” Morgan frowns.
I keep my eyes fixed on Savannah. “I want to know. Was it your Aunt Tamara influence’s on you?”
Savannah ignores my question.
“Of course it was Tamara,” Morgan interjects.
“Will you let her answer? Please, Morgan?” Thankfully, Mary Nell drifts back to sleep in my arms.
Savannah takes a deep breath and turns her face toward the sun. “I suppose when you live for heaven, you’re willing to accept more pain on earth in hopes of making it. But when heaven’s come to earth, why let yourself suffer? And why beat yourself up over your decisions if there’s no, you know, no one to answer to?”
“How do you know there’s no one to answer to?”
“Raymond!” Morgan blurts out my name angrily. “Why are you doing this?”
“Shh, you’ll wake her up.” Mary Nell stirs, and I begin to rock her to try to get her back to sleep.
“If there is a loving God,” Savannah sighs, “then why does so much evil happen? Why is Mary Nell diseased, and why did her father abandon us for a younger woman? Either God is not all loving, or He’s powerless to prevent the evil He wants to forbid.”
I recoil, my face heating. Those are precisely the same words I would announce to her whenever she would level her metaphysical criticism at my experiments, when I began to pioneer the New Body technology. If my work was so evil and the all-powerful Christian God so good, I would reason, why would He allow me to do what I am doing? Either He wills me to do what I am doing, and therefore cannot justly condemn me for it, or He’s too weak to hinder me. It was my favorite algorithm to neuter religious objections and extinguish personal guilt. That and wine.
Morgan affirms Savannah’s remarks with a confident nod. “Good point, dear. Isn’t that a good point, Raymond?”
“Well, if there is no God, there can be no evil, can there?” If she’s going to echo my words, I’m going to echo the words of my sister Tamara, who once responded to me in this manner. “What’s the big deal about your fiancé breaking his promise and leaving you for a secretary? Hmm?”
Mary Nell startles awake and tries to sit up in my arms. I fetch her bottle out of the diaper bag and try to rock her again, but she won’t be content. She waddles lazily in circles around the post of the umbrella that is sticking out of the sand, drinking her bottle.
Morgan sighs heavily, and pulls a smokeless electronic marijuana joint out of her purse. “Enough of the head games, Ray. You don’t even believe that.”
“No, hear me out. If there is no God or if the God that exists is not good and loving, then what’s the big deal about Him causing the innocent to suffer? How can that be wrong?”
Savannah stares at me blank-faced. “You cannot be sincere.”
I take a deep breath. She’s right. I’m not sincere. I appeal to the argument as a pragmatic means to try to get Savannah to rethink her decision, not out of genuine faith. “Just tell me, if there is no God, how can there be such a thing as moral evil? If you think about it, just making the argument refutes the argument. You presuppose God’s goodness in your appeal to an absolute standard of goodness to condemn Him . . . ”
Savannah opens her mouth to speak, but remains silent. I snap my fingers and then aim my index finger at her. “And that has been my response for most of my life. Smoke and mirrors. Change the subject. Eschew sincere contemplation about morality and justice through busyness, incessant noise, the pursuit of wealth, fame, and unrestrained self-indulgence.”
“That’s rather harsh of you, Ray. We have to make the best out of this life, and that is what you have done. Both of you.” Morgan speaks as if her counsel may resolve the dispute, but her words amount to nothing but a distracting flattery. “The science you pioneered will improve human lives in unimaginable ways. Your political work is helping to secure the promise of an infinite, healthy life for future generations. If there is a God, how can He object to us living in the Garden of Eden?” She takes her hair and pushes it over her ears. She points heavenward. “It was His idea in the first place.”
“Cain killing Abel wasn’t.” I gesture at little Mary Nell, who is oblivious to the fact her life may depend upon the outcome of our debate. She continues to walk around the umbrella post, drinking from her bottle with one hand and grasping onto the pole with the other. “Didn’t He curse Cain for what he did to his little brother?”
That comment has the effect of a racial slur on a televised talk show. The women explode in offense and rage.
“How dare you!” Savannah is practically spasming with anger, almost toppling her lawn chair.
“Get control of yourself, Raymond.” Morgan blurts out as she leans toward me. She glances at Savannah.
Savannah gets up and grabs her purse as if she’s going to leave in a fit of fury.
“Don’t go, Savannah. I’m, I’m, I’m sorry. Please”—I clear my throat gruffly—“please don’t go.” My words begin to stutter and slur slightly, which is what happens to me under stressful situations since the stroke.
“Pardon his stuttering.” Morgan winks condescendingly. “His blooming conscience must be pressing against the part of his brain that does the talking.”
Savannah sits back down, her eyes fixed on her little girl.
“I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, Savannah.”
Mary Nell hears my stuttering, and she walks up to me and touches my mouth. She appears captivated by my speech impediment. “I’m, I’m, I’m,” she repeats.
“Grandpa has something wrong with him when he’s upset,” I explain.
“Me too, Gwanpaw.”
I raise my eyebrows, impressed with her ability to comprehend. I look to my daughter and wife, hoping to see that they are as enthralled with her as I am. Morgan appears distracted as she takes a drag of her electronic joint.
Savannah’s eyes widen at the realization of what Mary Nell has just said. “She’s never said anything like that before.”
“She knows what’s going on more than you know, Savannah.”
Savannah breaks out in a sob she tries to restrain but is unable.
Mary Nell runs the ten feet span to her mother and pushes against her mother’s palms, desperate
ly trying to get inside her repelling arms for a hug. “You’re going to get my tanning oil on you, girl. Go, hug your Grandpa.”
“Yes, come to Grandpa.” I stretch my arms toward her again.
“Gwanpaw,” she speaks slowly and carefully, as if she is correcting my mispronunciation. She turns and runs into my arms.
Some things in life are so self-evidently wonderful that they defy reason. Science is bankrupt to explain this kind of love.
I don’t know about the problem of evil, but this hug is the best evidence of a good God I have ever encountered. Although I cannot figure out for the life of me why He’d be so good to me.
12
“THIRTY-FIVE PERCENT INCREASE SINCE you were resurrected.” Quaid’s face on my monitor holds steady, but he is at least as ecstatic as my wife, who practically drools at the update from my trusted financial adviser.
“Oh, let’s celebrate!” Morgan is giddy, holding her half-drunk ubiquitous glass of Chardonnay. She’s wearing her black and red silk nightgown, sitting on the edge of the bed, so blissfully elated as to approach pathological mania. Perhaps she’s popping uppers with her wine. “That’s, what? Quaid, how much is that since Raymond was cryo-freezed?”
“Hold on, Morgan.” Her carefree giddiness was unnaturally attractive when I was younger in mind. Now, I find it exhausting, like taking a cocaine-sniffing Chihuahua on a walk through a zoo.
“Do I look like I’m in the mood to ‘hold on’?” She leans forward with a twinkle in her eye.
Quaid unleashes his toothy grin. “Is that the lovely Mrs. Verity? Get over here in front of the camera if you want me to answer your question.”
She playfully hops off the bed and comes over to my desk, in view of the camera on top of my monitor that feeds my image to Quaid.
“There you are, sweetheart.” Quaid’s eyes habitually drop straight to her bosom. I scowl even though he’s always looked at her like that. “Over 2,500 percent increase in your portfolio since Raymond was on ice, plus or minus a couple hundred percent. And half of that has been in the six months since Dr. Wilkes thawed you, thanks to the President’s commitment of federal funds to your research foundation.” From the way he puffs his chest out at the mention of federal funding, he must have played a role in obtaining that.
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